His Place
by storywriter30
Summary: She'd always come to the same realization - she loved his apartment and it wasn't for the walls..


**One-shot. **

**Title: His Place**

**Spoilers: None that I can think of. **

**Inspiration: Lady Gaga's_ Yoü and I_**

**A/N: This song has probably been done before but, the first time I heard it I was like, "Okay, this has Tiva written all over it." Anyway, here it is! : )**

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><p><em>Something, something about this place<em>

_Something 'bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face_

_Yeah something about_

_Baby yoü and I_

For the longest time, for years, she'd tried so hard to fight it. That magnetism had been the bane of her existence. But try as she might, it always won. And she found that, over time, fighting it became just too exhausting. She couldn't see the point anymore. It was just easier to relent and admit defeat.

The circumstance had almost never mattered. It didn't matter whether it had been one of their easiest, simplest cases and they were out celebrating or, if it had been one of their hardest, most emotionally charged cases and they were out basking in each other's sorrows. That was the first problem – it never matter and it always made good things _great_ and bad things _better_.

During the time that she was fighting the magnetism, she tried to explain it with other things. She _did_ love the lighting in the bar and Mike, the bartender _was_ familiar and he made her drinks _perfectly_. The bar stools had low backs so, you never fell off after having just one too many and the booths, well, they were some of the comfiest she'd ever sat in.

And it wasn't like she could attribute the _great_ and the _better_ to just _him_, either. The others were important – so very important. Abby made the mood lighter. She pointed out the good in everything. She was their very own Pollyanna (kill her now – she just referenced a movie.) – that is, when one of them wasn't in trouble. And McGee – McGee was like the voice reason. He could help you understand almost anything and be almost okay with it.

Those other things, though, the bar, the bartender, the drinks, the booths, the friends - they couldn't explain why, on the rare nights that he didn't go, she didn't enjoy herself. And why, when he was there, she almost always went home with him. The others things weren't what made it so special because, it really wasn't them.

So things had gone from good to great and bad to better, and he was now opening his front door and turning on the light. It wasn't like things always got R-rated after that, either. That was the other thing. Usually, they'd just sit and talk or, not talk at all and just be together. Another problem. It wasn't like they didn't sometimes do _other_ things too because they most certainly did. But, most nights they would collapse onto the couch or, if things were really serious, if the day, the week, the case, had been really bad, then they'd end up in his kitchen, sitting at his table, staring at each other.

She'd always come to the same realization. She _loved_ being in his apartment. It was one of her favorite places on the planet. And then she'd get so angry with herself. Because, obviously, it wasn't like she loved his apartment for its beige walls or anything else architectural. No, that wasn't it and she was well aware of that.

It was the fact the he was everywhere in the apartment. Aside from his actual, physical presence, normally in close proximity, very close proximity to her, symbols and evidence of his existence and his life here were everywhere. From outerwear that lay haphazardly discarded in various places, to a ridiculous amount of movies that sat on display below his TV, to his scent, which was everywhere. This was him and she … she loved being around him.

So, now they're on his couch. He's turned the TV on and they, although they almost always start out at separate ends of the couch, have somehow migrated towards each other. She gives credit to the magnetism that she is only sort of fighting by now. His arm has drifted down and now lies on her shoulder. And (someone please help her) she has laid back and nestled into his chest. The problem is that, for the life of her, she can't think of anywhere else she would rather be. She just can't.

Some nights they talk – they banter. Maybe it's about what they're watching; maybe it's about what happened that day. Either way, some nights they talk for hours upon hours. Its fast paced and she often wonders what an outsider observing would think of them. Probably something that she wouldn't want to hear.

Other nights, there is no talking at all. They'll just sit. They can sit for hours at time in pure and utter silence and not be bothered by it in the least. Those are usually the nights when he falls asleep twirling her hair around his fingers and she is calmed by drawing designs on the palm of his hand.

Then, there are the nights when they don't talk and they certainly don't just sit. Those are the nights when they kiss and kiss and kiss. And she often wonders if Gibbs will be able to see the marks of her lips on him the next morning. She'll even find herself throwing on a turtleneck in November the next morning, just to help combat her paranoia. On those nights, they almost always end up in his bed. And God, does she love his bed. Not only must she admit that it is remarkably comfortable, she's not sure if that is due to the mattress or, the fact that his chest always ends up being her pillow at some point, but she also really loves what they do in his bed. This is when _great_ becomes _amazing_ and _better_ becomes _pretty_ _darn_ _good_. It is _more_ than their cure all.

She knows that she has totally given up on fighting the magnetism when he doesn't have to ask her to spend the night, anymore. She stopped leaving a long time ago but that was due to his unwavering persistence. She knows that she wants to stay and she knows that he doesn't want her to leave so, she relents and doesn't make him beg, although, it does warm her heart when he does. Saying things like that makes her positive that she has completely lost herself. She's a little scared that that is a bad thing.

Another kiss from him is all it takes to allay her fears. Because, even though she still doesn't understand it, something about them works. They work together. They're better together. And, _come on, Ziva_, she tells herself, _this is Tony_. They have this unbelievable magnetism to each other and it makes everything so … _extraordinary_.

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><p><strong>Let me know what you thought. <strong>

**As always, Thanks for checking it out. -Cara : )**


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